Deja Vu
by Simon920
Summary: Sergeant Dick Grayson relives his past through a police case.


**Deja Vu**

"Hey, Sarge, the neighbors said there's a kid. I mean the victims have—had—a kid, a nine year old, a boy. He should be around here somewhere."

**Oh Jesus, not again. Dick Grayson stood, frozen for long seconds, stunned by what he'd just seen.**

**He'd seen this before.**

**He'd lived this before and that was the problem. He'd lived it before, he was still living it. **

**He lived this every day.**

"See if you can find him, get Johnson to help."

"Okay."

The paramedics arrived and then left, leaving the mess to the coroners and police, the yellow crime scene tape around the victims crinkling and blowing in the breeze.

"Sarge? You might want to come." Dick looked the man. "We found the kid—he's not hurt but, yeah, you might want to come."

**The details were different but the result was the same, a young child was violently orphaned, in shock and left standing alone, staring at the bloodied bodies of his parents. Without realizing what he was doing, moving on instinct without conscious thought, he found himself kneeling in front of the boy, shielding the child from the scene, knowing that it wouldn't help and that it would be imprinted on his brain and stay in his memory the rest of his life.**

**He put his arms around the boy but didn't say anything, knowing that there was nothing , no words which could help. Dick held him gently, feeling the tension, the rigid muscles in the child's body. It was shock, of course. In time it would lessen and disappear but this tableau of his parents; that would stay.**

They were a youngish couple, maybe in their late twenties and died because they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was a corner grocery store, a mom and pop kind of place and had been mid-robbery when they'd walked in, surprising the two addicts looking for something to pawn for drug money. The young couple and the owners, along with one other customer were all shot. They all died. The boy survived only because he'd been using the bathroom, locked the door and kept quiet. The cops had to force the door open, afraid of what they might find inside.

"Has anyone called CPS?"

"I think Morgan did, you want me to double check?"

Dick nodded, hating that the boy would have to go through the questions and everything else but there was no choice, at least not at the moment. He softly spoke to the child. "What's your name, would you tell me?"

No answer.

"I'm Dick and I'm going to make sure that we do everything we can to help you. Do you believe me?"

The boy almost nodded, trying to swallow more sobs. Dick picked him up, carefully carrying him outside so he wouldn't see his parents and the others loaded into body bags and onto stretchers, wouldn't see the photographer recording the scene, the detectives dusting for prints and the rest of the usual procedures.

Seated on a battered city bench twenty feet down the street, Dick kept his arm around the boy's shoulders, pulling him against his side, sharing warmth and contact.

"John. My name, it's John." It was spoken against his chest, muffled by his body.

"It's a good name. That was my father's name." **Lying in the sawdust, bleeding, his back broken. **John was overwhelmed by crying again, he pressed himself deeper into Dick's chest, his hands gripping the fabric of his shirt. Murmuring soft sounds, knowing the words wouldn't register and didn't matter.

**Screams, bright stage lights, crowds pressing close to see then turning away. A circus clown, a long time family friend, holding him close so he wouldn't see.**

"Grayson, we've asked around, no one seems to know if there are any relatives close by. CPS is on the way; you okay staying with the kid until they get here?"

Dick nodded, but maybe this time it would be different, just a little better. "John, do you have any family around here?"

"What?"

"Grandparents, aunts or uncles, cousins? Is there someone you could stay with?"

John hiccuped as he swallowed a fresh round of tears and nodded. "Aunt Arlene and Uncle Bill, they live down there." He vaguely pointed down the street.

"Do you know their phone number or their last name? I can call them and maybe you could go there for a while. Would that be okay?"

John seemed to rally for an effort, maybe understanding that this was important and might help a little. "Sutter, same as me. They live next to the school." He was still curled into Dick's body, pressing close.

A nod to another cop and the call was made, less than ten minutes later the distraught couple were there.

"...Ohmigod...no, it can't be them, it can't..."

"Arlene, just stop, it's a mistake, it's probably nothing, a mistake..."

**Jesus, that's stupid, of course he has to stay here, this is his home, f'theloveo'god.**

"Where are they? I don't see them, what did you do with th...No. No. You're wrong, that's not right, you have to be mistaken...Jimmy? Tell them, Tell then they're wrong."

"Ma'am, please. I know this is difficult but the boy is over here and if you'd come with me, please."

"Katie? Kate? She's here, I know she is—she's hurt? Which hospital?"

"Ma'am, please..."

"What hospital? They're both at the same one, aren't they? You'd have to send them to the same place, to Rabe, right? Jimmy, we have to go. We have to go now..."

"Ma'am, the boy, their son is here, right over here and he's..."

"Johnny? Johnny's still here? Is he..."

"He's not hurt, he's okay but if you could please. He's upset..."

"Johnny? _Johnny!_" The woman, Arlene saw the boy on a bench twenty yards away, still being held by a policeman. Then she was there, pulling him into her arms with a stranglehold, taking him away from the man who'd been holding him since he'd left the locked bathroom. "Are you all right? You're not hurt?"

**Dick, you'll be all right, It's going to be fine, you'll see, everything will be fine. **Would it have been possible to find dumber questions? "He's not injured, ma'am, but I think that CPS will want to speak with him before anything happens."

"Excuse me?"

"I mean before you can leave, before he can go home with you." She nodded, probably still in shock herself. "I don't mean to pry, but how were you related to, uh, to John's parents?" His voice was quiet and hesitant. He really didn't want to intrude but needed to know.

"Katie's my sister,my little sister; they just lived around the corner." She glanced down the street, towards the direction they'd lived. "She, we talked every day. They're supposed to come over for dinner tomorrow. I guess..." She looked at the boy and stopped.

**Of course Dick has to stay with us, we're his family; he's part of us.**

"Sarge? The social worker is here and the Lieutenant wants to take a statement from the kid."

Dick nodded an acknowledgment. "John, is that all right? Would you speak with them? It's important."

The child burrowed further into his aunt. "Can't it wait?"

"We need to get information while it's fresh, before you forget anything." **He'll never forget this, he'll ****have nightmares about this the rest of his life. **"John, if you saw the people who did this, if you can describe them we'll have a much better chance of catching them. Do you think you could help us?"

**Helping catch the men who did this, that's how he'll start to heal, Alfred. **

"Will you be there?" He was frightened, needing some kind of anchor.

"Of course I will and, if you want, your aunt can be there as well." The child nodded just enough to be seen.

The area John was taken to for questioning was too bright, there was little privacy and he was both tired and in shock. His aunt was beside him, holding his hand.

"John, could you tell me what happened, son?"

"Uh..."

"You and your parents went to the store and...?"

"And, um, they were looking at stuff and..."

"And?"

"And, I was, I was over by the chips and, and, um..." He crumpled, his face screwing up and his shoulders heaving again in wrenching sobs.

**Tell us, son, it could help. You know who did this, don't you? You know who killed them.**

Dick looked over at the detective and shook his head. "Let me, okay?" Nodding, the man left; he had a girl about the same age as this kid and it hurt, even for a professional, it hurt to see this, to be a part of it.

"John, I know this is hard, that you probably don't want to talk about it or remember it but we want to catch the people who did this, we—I—want to help."

The boy shook his head, silently asking to be left alone.

"I know how your feel right now, it's..."

"No, you don't."

"...I do. My par..."

"No you don't know"—a hiccup/sob escaped—"you're just a cop doing your job."

**You don't understand. No one understands. But that wasn't true; Bruce understood and that made the difference.**

He let the boy cry more, giving him the temporary release, his aunt rubbing his back while they sat and waited. Finally he lifted his head and looked over at Dick, the boy nodded his head and began speaking. "I was looking at the chips and was going to ask my mom if I could get a bag of Doritos when these guys came into the store."

Another pause. **He hid his face inside the costume jacket of one of the clowns, the man's hand gently rubbing his back while the coroners removed his parent's bodies.**

"What did they do when they came in, how many of them were there?"

"Two guys and they just went over to the counter then one of them—the one in the blue hoodie—took this gun out of his pocket and said they wanted money. He said 'Empty the drawer'."

John sniffed again but went on.

"The other guy, the clerk, did what they asked, he opened the cash register and was handing over money but I guess he didn't do it fast enough or something and then the other guy, the other thief said something like 'He's called the cops' and they shot him."

"What were you and your parents doing during this?" **When he managed to look, he saw the small pools of blood still staining the sawdust.**

"Just standing there behind the shelves, kind of hiding but when mom heard the gun she shoved me into that closet and I saw dad try to push her down onto the floor."

Another short pause.

"Mom had closed the closet door so I couldn't see but I heard more shots and then the cops got there."

"Did you see their faces? Would you recognize them if you saw them again?" The boy nodded and Dick looked across the room to the head detective; the boy would help. "We think that we may have caught them, the people who did this. Will you come with me and tell me if we have the right ones?"

"But—will they be, I mean, can they..."

"They won't be able to see you. You'll be looking at them through one way glass and all they'll see is a mirror."

"You'll be there?"

"If you want, of course." They went down to the viewing room, hidden, as promised, behind one way glass. Standing there, John between his aunt and Dick, other officers and detectives crowding in, the boy looked through the window into the small room beyond.

"There, the guy in the red shirt and the one with the scar on his face. That's them."

"Are you sure? No question, absolutely positive?"

"Yes." His answer was quiet but definite.

"Thank you, John." Dick turned to his aunt. "You can take him home now but make sure that we have a number where we can contact you, okay?"

He walked them out, made sure that they were safely in a cab then took a twenty out of his wallet for the driver. "I'll stop by in the morning; would you like if I arranged a squad car to watch your house tonight?"

She nodded, fighting tears again, hugging him quickly before getting into the taxi with a whispered 'Thank you'.

**It's too late to get him into a foster home, just take him to Juvie and we'll sort it out in the morning.**

**But I want to stay with my friends—please." He remembered crying, holding onto Uncle Emmett's shirt, clinging, hanging on to the clown's lapels.**

**Tomorrow, son. You can come back tomorrow.**

"You were good with with that kid, Grayson. Good work."

"Thanks." He turned to the locker room, it was six hours past his shift. It was late and he knew Nightwing needed to go out, needed to make sure the case against the murderers was solid, needed to make sure no evidence was overlooked.

He'd call the kid, call John in the morning, make sure that he got whatever help he needed, grief counselors, a priest to talk to if that was his inclination. He'd follow up, make sure the boy wasn't forgotten.

**When you're ready, when your training is finished you can go out with me, find the men who killed your parents. You can help me, Robin.**

**No, Batman. You can help me.**

**3/23/11**


End file.
